


Us, Ourselves, And We

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 Has a Different Name, Drama, Fluff, Gen, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 15:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. Like birds lined up on a wire...





	Us, Ourselves, And We

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for _Skynet_.  
> #whocares
> 
> Takes place between the crux made by these three characters, let’s say. Red will be getting his own spinoff soon enough.
> 
> The folks at the DBH Amino chose Harris hawk for him. They couldn’t have picked better. :3

Three months was nothing. Whatever amount of time had elapsed, the RK800 model once known as #313 248 317 -60 seemed no more endeared to his ‘predecessors’ now than last they had laid optics on each other. But just because he didn’t openly admit to this dislike meant it was real. To an extent it had always been part of his persona. He wasn’t the sarcastic, abrasive Reed or the gruff, always frank Anderson.

He was just Red - in name and in attitude.

Which made the unexpected summons even more - just that - unexpected.

On a basic level, Noah was simply happy to see curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of him, alone. Connor let inquisitiveness lead him here just the same, regardless of whatever workload the RK800 was currently haggling back at Central. For at least an hour that Sunday morning, they had an hour to burn, and a glittering city skyline to admire.

Or they tried to admire it, besides listening to their reappropriated counterpart as he ranted and paced. By Noah’s chronometer, it was at least ten minutes before the hawk-winged courier slacked off enough to let either of them speak.

“Long story short, you’re saying you need help? Is that it?”

“No, not exactly.” One eyebrow raising, Red immediately seemed adverse to the idea of asking for help, trying to dissuade them of the notion immediately. His feathers puffed out like those of an indignant raptor. “I'm looking for advice. There's a difference in the two, and if you don't want to give it, I won't be upset. I'm merely asking.”

Noah almost didn’t want to give it. Almost. And if he were pressed to answer, Connor was probably feeling much the same. Whatever strained dynamic there was between the two of them went threefold for Red. This was the same bitterly-loyal android who _almost_ duped them into trashing each other on CyberLife’s say-so.

Then -60 only reneged when it became clear he was due to experience a rapid, systematic breakdown just the same as them. He took up a new post at the Overclocked courier service in Brightmoor as a means to earn back some modicum of usefulness, and in part to repent for the damage he had done, to the department as well as that particular business. Only then had mogul mastermind Javier Sindino greenlit a life-saving biocomponents overhaul for him, too.

The three of them hadn’t spoken to, much less seen him since.

He wouldn’t be asking anything of them if he wasn’t in some kind of real need.

Connor put the obvious to words first: “What kind of advice?”

“I… need to find a way to somehow… satisfy the couriers at Overclocked.” Reluctant as he clearly was to admit such a thing, Red did just that. He wouldn't, if it wasn't obviously serious. “Our situation can not continue the way it is, currently. I'm forced to reckon it may have some small part to do with… me, and not them.”

That much wasn’t a surprise. Even if the definition of deviancy had grown increasingly murky over the last few months, from the start, it was clear a once-loyal model like Red would have the most difficulty separating himself from it. Overclocked was very much not Belle-Isle. A depot full of deviants overseen by a human staff of two was not the sort of place he could expect to just snap his fingers and expect them all to adapt to his mode of thinking.

If he were smart as he claimed, he would do better reversing that formula.

“And your situation is, what?” Noah asked. Knowing some specifics was the only way they might provide the guidance being asked of them. “Who did you piss off now?”

Somewhere to his right, he heard a soft, disbelieving gasp.

And? Was it any shock that he was picking up Gavin Reed’s vernacular, day by day, in practice if not thought?

Glaring at him, Red managed his own scoff, but didn't sound quite as surprised. He looked much like last they had seen him, minus the snappy jacket. His hair was still the short, dark crimson style, with more russet-hurd irises to match. The gray jacket was gone, replaced now by a stylistic, raglan-sleeved, tan-and-black Overclocked uniform. A more flexible garment than any Interceptor jacket, it complimented his Harris hawk wings in every respect.

He might have passed as benign if not for his chest-out, holier-than-thou attitude.

“I didn't piss anyone off - or, at least, I didn't mean to. It isn't my fault if they _choose_ to be offended by me. …I suppose what I need advice on is how to keep some form of peace between myself and the others, without - compromising myself. No one will listen anymore, and when they do, they only have exaggerated reactions for what I said.”

“No? Did you really expect to be able to simply step in and start ordering them around?” Noah drawled, even if he and Connor both knew their ‘cousin’ could and would have done exactly that. “You may only need to simply remind yourself you’re the newest addition to their… arrangement.”

“I understand that, but technically, I'm superior to them, in almost every capacity.” Drawing himself up for an argument, as much as exemplifying his good posture and form, Red took a step closer. “It only makes sense that _I_ would be the one in charge, but no one else expects that. Which I've more than accommodated for, but it still isn't working. I'm not going to change myself for them, but if there's anything else I can do…”

Trailing off, he raised an eyebrow again, looking back and forth between Noah and Connor. It was obvious he had expected more immediate advice than what he was receiving.

He wanted to know what could be fixed that wouldn’t require so much give on his part. Compromise, however, never worked that way. Both parties surrendered something to attain a happy medium.

“Definite ‘superior’,” Connor remarked, even if it was without the blunt edge of a route command. “It sounds like you don’t measure up to their criteria as to what it is to… lead. And by all accounts, Henry didn’t _lead_ them, and he never considered himself their superior.”

Said like someone who had been there, and he had, even if the group at Central was far smaller than the two dozen repurposed models Red now oversaw. That opinion had to count for something.

And even among themselves, there was no ‘superior’ in Noah’s mind. He was a whole model number apart from either of them, and a unit apart from (what would have been) his trine of RK900s. Released at different times, under vastly different circumstances, Vernon and Emilia were units unto themselves.

Red was more alone in his new home than he had ever been prior. He wasn’t made with a trine set in mind, and it showed.

Which made his designers’ choice of wing all the more bemusing. Harris hawks were gregarious. They cooperated on hunts, where others of their kind flew solo.

Perhaps he and falcon-winged Connor should consider a swap. (But then their names wouldn’t be half as good fits.)

“They're all child-minded courier models, even the ones made to look older. There's no defining, there just is, and I am.” Almost sounding angry at his own description, Red didn't bother to try and calm himself down, or change his tone. “I shouldn't have to follow whatever… criteria they have. I can not measure up to Henry, no matter how much I would attempt something like that.”

“You may be a newer brand than any of them, but that doesn’t make you the new Henry,” Noah concluded. Even if he never discussed it with anyone, save Gavin or Nick, he remembered all too clearly that lost feeling, the first week he spent at the 7th. “You’re not their Henry any more than I’m the new him.”

One sideways jab with his thumb was indicative enough. Even if the RK900’s name remained unchanged, officially, the fewer times it was used, the better.

“What’re you having the most difficulty with, specifically? If you’re unwilling to adapt, you’re only setting yourself up to fail.”

Fail.

Now there was a word none of them took lightly, whatever it’s definition.

“I am adapting, as much as I can.” Which perhaps wasn't the full truth, but it was most likely as much as Red wanted to admit to at the moment, even to himself. “I'm having the most difficulty simply… being respected, or being listened to. They're unwilling to take anything I say into consideration, or include me in discussions. I wouldn't care if it wasn't exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.”

At that Connor didn’t bother hiding a wry scoff. “Is it? Be realistic, you aren’t there on any orders from CyberLife.”

Glowering, Red didn’t appear to appreciate the reminder. “What else am I supposed to do? Play house with you rejects?” Pointing a finger at Connor for a moment, he swung it at Noah after. “Or be unwittingly partnered up with a dysfunctional human, like you? I don't think so.”

Noah smirked. Far from being offended, what Red described sounded entirely preferable to his grasping-at-relevance existence, solo or not. “No. You can continue doing… whatever it is your situation can be described as.”

At least they knew where they stood. How quickly did -60 forget he was one who came begging for advice. If he refused to listen, that was on him.

Connor indirectly reminded him of as much: “We’re not going to be telling you anything you _want_ to hear, Red. If getting their respect is the first step, you need to stop focusing on what they want and look at what they need. Henry was diplomatic, not a dictator.”

That much seemed to sink in - partially, if not completely. The dubious squint faded a few degrees. He may not be

“I'm not a dictator. But if your advice is to lay off of them, or… try and be a bit more easy-going in their presence… I can accept that.”

“And if you can’t,” Connor amended. “Try not to concern yourself with it so much. The situation is always subject to change.”

Noah let the smirk drop. That was as close to disgustingly optimistic as his counterpart dared to get. Even after the overhaul, Connor was given to bouts of cynicism. Telling Red to just take it easy was advice parceled out to him by Lieutenant Anderson many a time.

Before it could veer into too sentimental territory, Noah spared Red’s broad wings a very obvious glance. Self-preening could only keep one’s plumage so pristine. Highlit by the morning sun, the rustic brown-red feathers still boasted a few clumped vanes.

“Do that, you might even find one of them willing to help you preen.”

“I don't _want_ anyone to help me preen, even if they offered!” Managing to sound affronted, Red shook his head with a grimace. “I thought I made it clear I'm not looking for - for friendship from any of them, I simply want them to stop with the disrespect. I don't want their hands on me!”

Admittedly, it was funny to see what a minor ‘freak out’ such a harmless suggestion provoked in him. What was everyday and commonplace for them was scary, untested territory for the former failsafe model.

“You’ll be hating yourself later, if any of them so much as offered,” Noah warned, daring to take a step closer, hand raised ‘threateningly’. “Those secondaries closest to the body can be hard to reach.”

Good wing hygiene was a must for any flyer. And most feathers could be serviced by oneself without an issue. The first place they tended to show gradual wear and tear was where the barbs brushed one’s clothes.

Red was no different than the rest of them in such regard.

“I can already see you have some matting going on. Very - unsightly,” Connor remarked, for some measure. Good or bad was the question.

“They are not _unsightly_ ,” Red hissed, taking half a step back from Noah, glaring at the raised hand as if had turned poisonous. His wings rose a bit higher, as if to try and warn them to stop the line of questioning right then. “I can reach them fine, I don't need any help. I'll attend to them later.”

“...Can you, though?”

“I can! I've gotten what I came for, I'm leaving.” Attempting to cut the dialogue off at that, Red took another step back, toward the edge of the roof. His wings mantled uneasily, one twitch away from opening to full span. “Your advice will suffice for now.”

After what they had been through, together? No. A bit of deliberate, if not harmless pestering was the least of what he deserved.

Hand dropping to his side, Noah took a few steps forward, making up for and closing the distance at all once. “Perhaps we should see you back to Brightmoor. For your own safety, of course.”

“ _No._ Stop that, now - I know you're just trying to annoy me.” Narrowing his eyes at him, Red glanced backwards, overtly trying to see just how much more distance he had before reaching the edge and being forced to take flight. “I'm perfectly fine by myself. Go entertain your humans.”

With a smirk that was more a sneer, Noah stepped even closer. It was almost a sidestep, putting himself closer to the edge to match. “Oh, we will. With a story of how we raced you back to the depot, and you _lost_. Tragically, I might add.”

“No, _no_ , you're not pulling me into any - childish game. I don't care who exactly would win in a race, I came for advice, not to stoop to such levels.” Narrowed eyes turning into a glare, Red shuffled sideways, some sort of attempt to get himself more away from the other two androids. “Race each other for all I care. Which I don't.”

Evidently throwing his proverbial hat in the ring, Connor moved in from the other side. His wasn’t the wide, deliberately-egging grin, but from the narrow-eyed, sideways stare, he wasn’t about to let this opportunity go to waste, either.

“You say you’re so _superior_. Why not demonstrate it? Try and get away. It’ll only be a game to us, but once Charlie and the others hear how you failed to get away…”

“Stop it. You can't use that against me, I don't care what they think. I don't need to prove myself to them, or you two.” Caught between their pincer, Red was forced to take his next backwards step closer to the edge, swinging his glare from both of them. His LED cycled into yellow, spinning fast. “I'm leaving, which is _not_ an invitation for you to race.”

Alas, he could only say that all he wished. Doing anything to prevent it from happening was another story entirely. Only a pace remained between them and open sky.

Exchanging a look with his once-loathed counterpart, Connor scoffed. “So all that talk about earning their respect? Did you mean any of it, or did you actually only want to see us again?”

“You can admit it if it’s true, come on. Who would we tell?”

“That's - that is _ridiculous_ , why would I want to see you two? I came for advice, which was obviously some severe lapse in my judgement.” Almost skittishly, he kept swinging his gaze back and forth between them, creeping closer to the edge. “It won't happen again, rest assured.”

“Hmph. You say that now.” Noah spared a second to eyeroll, as if he intended to ease off, before sharply stepping forward, raising a hand to poignantly tap on the shorter android’s forehead. “Your stress level says - otherwise.”

Seemingly without thinking, Red started backwards, trying to evade the touch without thinking about where he was in relation to the edge. One foot slipped off of it, eyes widening as it did so, hands going up automatically to try and find some balance.

Fingertip still pressed in place, wings spreading out to test the breeze, Noah let the smirk go and pushed.

“After _you_.”

The yellow LED went scarlet.

Mouth almost open in time to say something, the words were lost as soon as Red started them, falling off the side of the building with the beginning of a scream. Almost belatedly, his wings flapped out, as if startled into functioning once again.

They knew. _Oh, yeah, can’t let ourselves splat on the pavement. Very embarrassing._

Not to mention fatal.

Following through on the motion, Noah let himself tip the rest of the way over. With sharper, thinner wings outstretched to catch a strong current, he angled upward for only a moment before stooping into a steep, reigned-in dive.

Belatedly, he heard a third set of wings unfurl and follow.

They had gone through the trouble of meeting. Might as well have some fun while they could.


End file.
